


Sick with Desire

by annabeth



Category: Gravitation, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, ひとりじめマイヒーロー | Hitorijime My Hero (Anime), 天使禁猟区 | Tenshi Kinryoku | Angel Sanctuary, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canonical Incest, Consensual Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Incest, Inuyasha doesn't know about Sesshomaru's feelings, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage - Freeform, a couple of pedophiles in Gravitation, because he's a shinigami, but Hisoka is already dead, canonical past murder, introspective pieces, neither does Sesshomaru at first, not a crossover but individual fics from diff fandoms, unrequited feelings (Inuyasha thinks)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: An examination of a theme from the viewpoint of several different fandoms.Hitorijime My Hero:Kousuke-san wanted to convince Masahiro that they belonged together—that Masahiro had a new place to belong—but Masahiro couldn't quite bring himself to believe something so damn good could happen to a person like him.Inuyasha #1:Kagome destroyed his peace of mind.Gravitation:Kitazawa was so much bigger than he was, still. Eiri was almost sixteen but somehow Kitazawa seemed bigger, stronger, more compact in ways Eiri couldn't ever imagine being.Angel Sanctuary:Setsuna's desires were abominable. They were catastrophic.Yami no Matsuei:This desire always felt like being clobbered over the head with something heavy, the way it snuck up on him and then, bam, one look at Tsuzuki and he was reeling.Inuyasha #2:"So, Sesshomaru. You find yourself in lust with your own brother," Naraku mused.
Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/InuYasha, InuYasha/Sesshoumaru (InuYasha), Kitazawa Yuki/Yuki Eiri, Kurosaki Hisoka/Tsuzuki Asato, Mudo Sara/Mudo Setsuna, Ooshiba Kousuke/Setagawa Masahiro, Seguchi Tohma/Yuki Eiri
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	1. Hitorijime My Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Note: the rape/non-con elements, child abuse, and the pedophiles are all canonically part of Gravitation. I tried to portray them without too much detail, but the general elements were already there in both the manga and anime. So if that bothers you, skip the Gravitation chapter! :) (chapter 3)  
> Also canonical rape/non-con and murder referenced in Yami no Matsuei (chapter 5).

Kousuke-san was just so. Damn. _Cool_ , Masahiro thought for what had to be the millionth time. From the moment he'd beaten up those thugs Masahiro had been hanging around with, to this moment, when Masahiro was watching him write out formulas on the blackboard. He was crazy strong, and smart, and sexy—and way, way, _way_ out of Masahiro's league.

Which was why it was so baffling that Kousuke-san still tried to steal kisses in the stairwell, or dragged Masahiro into bed at his home even when his mom was downstairs. It didn't ring true yet—the idea that of all the people Kousuke-san could have chosen, he'd picked _Masahiro_. It didn't seem real; Masahiro tried out the words in his head: _Kousuke-san is mine. He's mine._

Ken and Hasekura seemed to have accepted the idea like it made perfect sense, when for Masahiro, it made anything but. Sure, Kousuke-san had come home to Kensuke in their living room feeding an abandoned kitten, and that wasn't the only stray he'd brought home that day, yet Kousuke-san—despite what Ken had said about him killing them—had taken it in stride. And when Masahiro begged to be his underling, expecting to be rebuffed, Kousuke-san had instead accepted him, and for the first time, Masahiro had found a place where he felt he belonged.

Kousuke-san wanted to convince Masahiro that they belonged together—that Masahiro had a new place to belong—but Masahiro couldn't quite bring himself to believe something so damn good could happen to a person like him.

He had never expected—never even dreamed—that someday, Kousuke-san, his rescuer, his superior, his idol—would be his _lover_.

And yet, in spite of that, Masahiro found himself burning up inside from just a glance from his _math teacher's_ deep blue eyes, or the glimpse of that beauty mark by his mouth, or—when he was sufficiently distracted from math and couldn't concentrate on anything else but Kousuke—the front of Kousuke-san's dress slacks, at the groin, where he knew just exactly what his math teacher looked like in that most private place. (Like the other beauty mark on his inner left thigh, or the way the tip of his cock would flush rosy just from Masahiro's breath on it…)

He was going to fail all of his math exams, because he spent more time studying—and memorizing—the teacher than he did the formulas and equations. In some ways, he knew it was unfair of Kousuke-san to put him in this situation, where he wanted to put his chin in his hands and just stare stupidly at Kousuke, but he also knew that Kousuke-san had only opened Masahiro's eyes to something that was already there—like when he'd said, "fuck you until you break," and Masahiro had gasped.

Now there was no going back. It didn't matter if Kaide-san had big boobs and Masahiro didn't. It didn't matter if the girls in his class—in all the classes, really—crushed on Kousuke-san. Hell, it didn't even matter if _Masahiro_ crushed on Kousuke-san, it didn't feel like Kousuke really belonged to him. Like at any moment those blue eyes would catch Masahiro's glance, and then they would widen and dart away, and Masahiro would be left reeling, wondering if it had all been just a dream.

Because it _felt_ like a dream. It felt so beautiful he didn't want to wake up, but the uncertainty—and the worry—turned the dream upside down and it became a nightmare he couldn't escape.

Masahiro tried to focus. He scribbled down equations and how to solve them in his notebook, but fairly soon he realized that he wasn't looking at the paper anymore, and he wasn't thinking about math anymore—and then the class rustled, books closing, pens being capped, and Kousuke-san said,

"All right, that's enough for today. The bell is about to ring; study quietly, okay?" and then he turned away from the blackboard and his blue eyes fell on Masahiro, and they were dancing. Masahiro's heart clenched so hard he lost his breath for a moment; those dusky blue eyes, all they had to do was stare straight into his heart and he was lost, utterly forsaken.

He would never understand how Kousuke-san could profess to belong to him so completely, yet Masahiro still felt like it was agony, as if Kousuke-san remained forever out of reach. Even when they were in bed together—even when Kousuke-san was opening him with smooth strokes—Masahiro would fall into those eyes and drown, and it felt like he could never quite touch all that beauty. Kousuke-san was always hands-on, and he was always _right there_ —yet he felt so remote.

Masahiro knew that was his own insecurity coming to the fore; he knew Kousuke-san wasn't even aware of it. Kousuke could be oblivious; he could be selfish, but ultimately he was more than Masahiro's math teacher, less than Masahiro's lover—just a man. A man who professed to love Masahiro, but what if Kousuke-san could never understand him? How to explain the exquisite pain that pierced his chest every time those piercing blue eyes met his?

How to explain the unending anxiety, the undying lack of self-worth, the sense that the only thing Masahiro was really good for was being a housewife? He cooked, he cleaned, he filled Kousuke-san's bed when Kousuke wanted a willing hole to thrust his dick into. And it _hurt_. It hurt, not to be seen. To be held so tenderly, to be watched so closely, and yet his mind was never penetrated, only his body.

It hurt to be so in love that every breath was an agony. To be so sick with desire that every touch became an overwhelming torment of pleasure. And in spite of it all, to be so lost that he couldn't find the words to tell Kousuke-san how he felt.

The bell rang. And inside Masahiro's pocket, his cell phone buzzed; he looked up quickly, just in time to catch the glimmer of blue as Kousuke-san looked away and casually shoved his hand into his pocket.

Masahiro took out his cell phone; in clear black and white, the text read: **So, I see you were paying close attention in class today. I'll be home a bit late because of meetings, Kaide-san asked me to help her out. Take a bath after dinner, would you?**

Masahiro swallowed his own lustful desire to drag Kousuke-san into a stairwell, or behind a trash can, or into a closet, for deep, drugging kisses, and had to shift on his feet to try to cover his burgeoning erection with the tails of his shirt.

As he walked by Kousuke-san's desk on his way out the door, he made the mistake of peeking at him, and Kousuke caught his gaze and winked, eyes traveling swiftly down, then back up. His lips curved into a wicked grin—he obviously knew what Masahiro was trying to do—and the beauty mark mesmerized Masahiro, begging to be kissed—and then he was beyond Kousuke-san's desk, and out of Kousuke-san's classroom—but he knew he wasn't out of Kousuke-san's heart.

He knew that, however painful it was, or how much jealousy he felt over things he would never have, like boobs, Kousuke was still only looking at _him_.

It was the only antiseptic for the wound buried in Masahiro's soul.

END


	2. Inuyasha #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kagome destroyed his peace of mind._

Inuyasha didn't know when it happened, when he started to think in terms of _must protect Kagome_ over _I'll never let anyone hurt you_ to Kikyo, but somewhere along the line, being in close proximity to Kikyo's resurrected soul started to be less about the memories of the past and more about the memories he was making _now_. And every time Kagome looked away from him, he found his gaze landing on her, caught like a fly in Naraku's web, and sometimes, when she was sleeping, he found himself trying to count her eyelashes.

Kagome was so _different_ from Kikyo. She may have inherited her soul, but in so many ways she was nothing like Kikyo—and while once Inuyasha made those comparisons because he loved Kikyo and he didn't understand Kagome, now he wound up staring at the sky at night, wondering what Kagome would do if he crawled under the blanket next to her and held her.

Like right now, when everyone was sleeping, and Miroku was snoring, Sango was breathing softly, and Shippo's breath was a little whistle—but he could still so easily differentiate Kagome's sleep breathing rhythms from everybody else. Maybe it was his superior hearing due to his _hanyou_ state. But maybe not… maybe it was something else.

It was the something else that terrified him.

++

"Something wrong, Inuyasha?" Kagome asked the next day, as they began traveling, hoping for a jewel shard, news of Naraku, or demons that needed to be dissipated in order to retrieve a jewel shard. _Or to make Kagome happy by helping the locals_ , Inuyasha thought.

"Nah, it's nothin'," he said, but the moment she had glanced his way, he'd been overcome with—with something not quite emotion, not quite physical, but something unique and in-between that he still didn't have words for.

"Oh, look!" Kagome cried, stopping her bicycle and pointing. "That hill. I can sense a shard of the Shikon jewel. Probably in the body of some demon, of course," she added darkly. Whenever Kagome was upset, her usual sunny nature soured, and it was difficult to believe she had those darker emotions until she was tested. Inuyasha looked away, realizing all at once that he was staring.

"Well, lemme tell ya, it's no match for me. I'll cut it apart with Tetsusaiga and recover any jewel shards. Hmph." Inuyasha caught Kagome looking in his direction and his body did something weird, like the _pulsebeat_ he felt when changing from human to _hanyou_ again. He'd never experienced it before, and it made him uneasy.

He'd always been able to divide his feelings into little boxes, to parcel them away and make sense of them that way. But with Kagome, things were different. Much like he couldn't control his own _hanyou_ nature—from transforming to human or back again—her very presence upset all his little boxes, toppling them until he couldn't sort through his own feelings.

Kagome destroyed his peace of mind. She made him think things he'd never thought before, feel things he'd never felt. She put _ideas_ in his head. Ideas like what it might be like to touch her knee—he wished, sometimes, that he had Miroku's daring! Miroku, who had groped Kagome's bottom more than once, even though she'd started threatening him with sacred arrows. _And you?_ Inuyasha thought. _Would she do the same to you?_

But of course she would. Kagome was special. She was as pure as Inuyasha was tainted by his demon blood. Inuyasha never minded the _youkai_ blood so much as he did in moments like these, when he realized he was staring at her and wishing for things that, in the past, he'd only ever wanted with Kikyo.

But now, he couldn't act upon his base desires. He couldn't talk candidly to Kagome or touch her or kiss her—he belonged to Kikyo, didn't he? Hadn't he loved her for over fifty years? Hadn't he made promises he hadn't yet kept?

Yet…

"There," Kagome said with satisfaction. "Do you smell demons, Inuyasha? Because the jewel shard is close."

They had been walking, and getting closer and closer to the little hill—which was now much larger—and Inuyasha hadn't smelled anything for miles but Kagome's own scent, the one he professed to hate—but had secretly become ambrosiac to him.

"Oh, yeah," Miroku said, busting through Inuyasha's thoughts like the Tetsusaiga through a demon. "There's definitely something here. I can sense a dark cloud—"

"Cut the crap, Miroku," Inuyasha snapped. "There are no inns or castles nearby to fall for your tricks, and—"

"No," said Sango, "he's right. Use your nose, Inuyasha, not your mouth."

So Inuyasha breathed in and smelled—something sweet, like flowers and honey. Something slightly sour, like milk that had been left too long in the sun. But he couldn't identify the source—and he realized it was because Kagome's scent was overpowering everything else, drowning him in her aroma, entangling him.

"I don't smell anythin'," he said mulishly. It obviously wasn't that he didn't smell anything—but he could no longer tell the distinction between any demons and Kagome, and it wasn't because she smelled _bad_ —but because she overwhelmed him.

"Really, Inuyasha?" Kagome said, coming closer and closer, leaning in to peer into his eyes. Hers were rich-earth dark, and he was staring into them and losing himself and—

He yanked away from her, averting his face, trying to will away the infusion of blood into his cheeks and… other places. It was hellish these days, being near her _all the fucking time_ and he couldn't do or say anything to draw attention to it. She was a teenager; he was technically over fifty years old. She was beautiful and pure; he was polluted and coarse, trapped eternally between a sinful human and an evil, bitter _youkai_.

"Inuyasha?" she repeated, and he discovered that, once again he'd been caught up in his own thoughts, and not attending to his surroundings. "If you feel sick, I'm sure Miroku and Sango could—"

"No!" he burst out, too loud; birds scattered from the trees. "No. I'm fine. I was just… momentarily distracted."

Kagome didn't ask by what, and Inuyasha was grateful.

And then there wasn't time to think, because the demon exploded out of the trees and made straight for them—and the fight was on.

++

They retrieved the shard of the sacred jewel, and with no sign of Naraku—a major victory, since he often appeared in his baboon camouflage and took it from them—they were journeying until they found a place to bed down for the night. Inuyasha, lost in his own thoughts once again, hardly noticed when the others were speaking. He barely registered it when they were speaking to _him_.

But he noticed when, after a few miles, Kagome said,

"Inuyasha? Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I am! What makes ya think I wouldn't be?" he snapped in return, but immediately regretted it. They bickered so often, it was second nature to him to yell. Actually, it was his propensity to yell no matter what was going on or who was speaking. Kagome sometimes referred to him as "prickly," though she probably thought he couldn't hear her when she said it to Sango or Miroku.

"Well, fine!" Kagome shouted back. "See if I care whether you got injured in the fight!"

"I'm perfectly fine!" yelled Inuyasha, though looking at her face, flushed with anger, made him feel less like yelling and more like… well. Like whispering. Into her ear. He felt his own face flush and immediately ran forward ahead of everyone so they couldn't see his face anymore.

"He's absolutely impossible," Kagome said to Sango.

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't mean to be," Sango replied. "He's used to being on his own, after all. But he is a bit… well, hot-tempered."

"I guess that's a good thing in battle," Kagome said, musing. "But I wish he wouldn't shout at me so much."

"He's probably hot-tempered in bed as well," Miroku said, and Inuyasha nearly stumbled and fell. "He'd probably do well to romance some girl of the countryside and—"

"Is that all you can think about!" Sango cried, followed by a thump and,

"Ow!" from Miroku, indicating that she'd probably bashed him on the head with something.

It was Kagome who said, "Over there, that's a hut that looks like it hasn't been used in awhile."

"I'll check it out," Inuyasha said, trying to modulate his tone. Why _did_ he always scream at her? These days it was often the last thing he really wanted to do—was it just force of habit?

That night, Kagome curled up closest to him on one side with Shippo on the other, Inuyasha sat, trying in vain to drift off. But he couldn't, because his eyes kept slipping open and wandering to Kagome like she was the Shikon jewel and he was a _youkai_ hell-bent on destruction. Because, in the beginning, Inuyasha had been desperate for the sacred jewel in order to become fully _youkai_. But now, it was as if all of his desires had shifted an inch to the right and the thing—the person—that drew him the most was Kagome herself.

Staring at her beautiful face, Inuyasha felt that _pulsebeat_ again and his claws dug into his palms as his body reacted to her; his cheeks flushed, his sense of smell became even keener, his heart began to race and blood filled secret, private areas that wanted and wanted and _wanted_... but could never have.

Hadn't he almost promised himself to Kikyo forever? Hadn't he spent months telling Kagome, in so many little deeds, in so many careless, thoughtless words, that she didn't matter?

And yet now she did. Inuyasha deserved the hell he was in, and he knew it.

Inuyasha's groin tightened. He could not tear his eyes away from her sleeping form. She was as beautiful as Kikyo—and as precious. But she could never be his. She didn't even belong in his time. Inuyasha tried to close his eyes, to focus on sleep and forcing his body back under control, but it wasn't to be. So slowly, quietly, he unfolded from the floor and stepped out of the abandoned hut they were sleeping in, and he crept around the back, and he slipped his hand into his pants.

And if he stayed back there a hair too long, if he breathed a little heavier than normal, if he felt something forbidden… well, there was no one around to know about it.

++

But the next morning, with Kagome merrily trotting down the road after a bath, Inuyasha couldn't bring himself to look at her. This thing that writhed inside him was too big for his body to hold, to heavy for his heart to carry. It was perverse and made him think things he shouldn't, feel things he thought he couldn't, and there was no one to know, and no one to tell, and it would always, always have to be that way—there was nothing he could do about it.

"Inuyasha!" cried Kagome, and he met her shining eyes. "The sunrise is beautiful, don't you think?"

And he stared at her, and memorized every inch, and replied, "Yes, it is."

END


	3. Gravitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kitazawa was so much bigger than he was, still. Eiri was almost sixteen but somehow Kitazawa seemed bigger, stronger, more compact in ways Eiri couldn't ever imagine being._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings! There is non-graphic rape/child sexual abuse in this chapter. Yuki Eiri is about to turn sixteen. This is canon--but my exploration of Yuki's feelings towards Kitazawa are drawn from canon as well.

"Time for lessons, Eiri-chan," Kitazawa said, and his smile was a perfect curve, like Eiri saw in the faces of the younger kids on the playground. He jumped up from the grass where he'd been sitting, enjoying both the sunshine and the shade of a tree, and had been playing games in his head about what he could see and where.

"I'm ready, Sensei," Eiri said, tromping after Kitazawa. Kitazawa was so much bigger than he was, still. Eiri was almost sixteen but somehow Kitazawa seemed bigger, stronger, more compact in ways Eiri couldn't ever imagine being.

But when they reached Kitazawa's loft, there were two burly men waiting for them, smiling with malice that glittered in their eyes and waited on their lips.

"This the kid?" one of them said, gesturing to Eiri. "He's what, how old?"

"Fourteen," Kitazawa said, and Eiri's eyes flew to his face. Why was he lying? Eiri would be sixteen in just days! He opened his mouth to ask, to say something like, _who are these guys, Sensei?_ when Kitazawa grabbed him by the bicep and dragged him painfully over to the wall. There was a mattress on the floor, and Eiri found himself staring at it, his mind in a fog. That hadn't been there before. He had lessons in Sensei's loft every day, and he would have noticed, because they were in the living room—the room the outer door opened into.

"Kinda too old," the other guy said, lighting up a cigarette. But even as he sucked in the smoke, he was cupping himself obscenely and staring way too hungrily at Eiri.

"Sensei?" Eiri cried, trying to reach for Kitazawa around the grip he was maintaining on Eiri's upper arm. "What's going on! Sensei?"

"Not too bothered by that, he's damn fine. Pretty eyes and face, ya know?" The first man stepped forward, his breath hot and unwelcome in Eiri's face. He pushed up Eiri's bangs to expose his eyes more and Eiri tried to back away, only to find himself forced up against the wall.

"Just relax, Eiri-chan," Kitazawa said, letting go of his arm only to lean into his personal space. The guy who had been studying him a moment before backed off a little, saying,

"You change your mind?" to Kitazawa. Eiri looked up into those eyes he thought he knew, the eyes he thought were so pretty—but they were so empty right now, so unfathomable. Eiri had thought he could read Kitazawa, had harbored all kinds of secret desires, but there was no kindness on that face anymore, just a naked greed that Eiri didn't understand.

But even as he stared at Sensei, even as his senses swam and his mind stuttered, he was still thinking about how he was almost sixteen years old and that, all this time, he'd been imagining himself in love with Kitazawa. He'd thought that the lust he'd felt had nowhere to go, and now, what was happening? Why were these men here?

And when the first guy, the one with the salt and pepper hair and hot breath, handed a ten dollar bill to Kitazawa, Eiri began to struggle, only to have Kitazawa pin him to the wall.

"Be a good boy, Eiri-chan," he said. "Take them in, nice and easy, and don't I have a present for you?" He smiled, but it was frightening, not a smile Eiri recognized. His blood felt like it was boiling him from the inside out. He got it now. Take these two men, and Kitazawa would give him what he'd been longing for. Accept them, get the one he wanted. Touch them—let them kiss him, maybe, while they did it—and Kitazawa might give him a kiss.

Eiri stared into those eyes, knowing fear was shining in his own, even as the man with the cigarette handed over ten dollars as well, and then everything was a blur: Eiri felt pain, and the struggle to get his jeans off, and there was Kitazawa's face, hovering in his vision, and Eiri clamped his mouth shut, endured, and waited.

When they were done, when the two men were satisfied, Eiri slumped and would have fallen if not for Kitazawa holding him up. The men left, but Eiri hardly noticed; he was too busy trying not to cry.

"Now, be a big boy, don't cry," Kitazawa said. "I promised you something, didn't I?" and he held out his arms. Eiri fell into them.

Soon enough he lay spread on the mattress, Sensei above him, and Eiri tangled his fingers in that light brown hair even as the pain consumed him. He had _loved_ this man, only to be so summarily betrayed, but he couldn't stop his feelings from burning in his chest, like a flame that would consume him from the inside out.

He had wanted Sensei's body, yes. But he had not wanted it like _this_. He had expected his desire would never be indulged; getting what he wanted didn't feel like victory—it felt like _losing_. Like loss. Like grief.

And when Kitazawa was done, when he was flopped onto his back and snoring, Eiri fished the twenty dollars out of his pocket, shoved his legs into his jeans—he was still wearing his shirt, for crying out loud!—and pocketed the money.

Then he went into the bedroom and got the gun. The rest was a mystery—next thing he knew, Tohma was holding him tightly and the knees of his jeans were soaked in blood.

++

Yuki sat up abruptly, wakening from the dream. But it wasn't just a dream, he thought as he leaned over to glance at the blonde-haired head in bed beside him. It was a memory.

Objectively, he knew Shuichi belonged in that spot. He'd promised they'd be lovers, hadn't he? But this man lying in his bed was the only person who knew the truth of what happened that night in New York. Even Yuki still couldn't remember all of it.

What he did remember, though, was enough. He'd woken breathing hard—adrenaline, fear—but also _hard_. Hard like the desire he'd felt for Sensei the moment they'd met. Hard like the grip of the gun in his hands as he fired. (It had been him. He'd killed Yuki Kitazawa, but he'd stolen his name and kept that desire locked deep within him.) Hard like the way he felt when he listened to Shuichi profess his love, knowing he could never return it.

How could he ever love Shuichi when his heart was buried in a grave in New York? How could he desire him completely, when his only desire had been murdered by his own hand?

And now, this: Tohma lying next to him, naked back slender and gleaming in the hall nightlight, face turned away; the only man Yuki really trusted. He knew Tohma was dangerous. He knew that what he felt for him was not the simple lust he'd felt for countless women or the deep-seated, painful desire he'd felt for the original Yuki, the better Yuki. No, what he felt for Tohma was nothing more than hormones.

When Tohma fucked him, Yuki came. That was all that mattered. That he could lie on his back and spread his legs, close his eyes, and wait for Tohma to take care of him, the same way he'd been waiting for Tohma to take care of him his whole life. To pretend that the man above him was someone else.

Someone who, in Yuki's mind, acted differently. Someone who kissed him gently and accepted Yuki's first time like a gift.

Someone who didn't betray him.

END


	4. Angel Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Setsuna's desires were abominable. They were catastrophic._

It was _such_ a good thing that Setsuna's mother wouldn't let him live with her and Sara, because when he'd been younger—when this whole thing had started, even though he didn't really understand it then—he'd liked to watch her sleep.

That hadn't changed, Setsuna thought. The only difference was that now, he understood himself better. He recognized his feelings for what they were—how _deviant_ they were. His mother was right to bar him from their house; he knew that. But it didn't change the way he _ached_ for the sight of Sara, the way he burned to be near her, the way he yearned to watch her sleep again.

For as many times in as many days, Setsuna was fighting, and the first sight of blood had made him pass out—and when he came to, lying next to Kira, the first thing he saw was Sara running to him.

_I wish she'd run like that toward me always,_ he thought woozily. In his muzzy, uncoordinated mind, he could almost imagine things being different: a world in which he was nothing more than a typical boy, one whose love interest was the girl next door, maybe, or the class beauty—but not his own damn sister.

Of course, even in those imaginings, the girl he pictured looked just like Sara, the only difference being that they weren't blood related. And he'd checked the family register before, desperate to understand his feelings—and even more desperate to be allowed to act on them. To look at Sara with all the longing he felt written over his face, and not be reviled for it. Because he already knew how his mother felt about him; he couldn't bear it for Sara to discover his secret and look at him with revulsion.

"Brother!" Sara was crying, as she came flying towards him, landing on her knees and causing her uniform skirt to blow a little in the wind. "Are you all right? Oh, you're bleeding—"

"Listen, Sara," Setsuna said, making an effort to sit up. "I'm fine, I just—"

"You were fighting again!" Sara scolded. "I recognize that look, Brother. You're trying to figure out how to lie your way out of this."

"Sara, come on. It's unseemly to be hanging around with my baby sister all the time. Go home." Setsuna hated to do it—hated _himself_ —but he couldn't be this close to her. Her eyes, her hair, her scent—he wanted to grab her, to not so much as kiss her but _maul_ her with his perverted desire. Best she think him thoughtless and cruel than be destroyed by his unnatural feelings.

"As if," she said, though. "You have a cut over your eye. And you've gotten blood in your hair. If you'd just let me—"

"Fuck. No, Sara. Go _home_. Why do you think I get into so many fights?" Setsuna watched her beautiful face fall, her eyes going to her lap. He'd hurt her.

But better he hurt her feelings than damn her soul to Hell, right? He struggled to his feet, with a little help from Kira, and shook his hair back into his face so he could veil his expression. It wouldn't do for Sara to look into his eyes and see something she recognized from the boys at her school. Base lust… that's all it was, right?

But Setsuna knew that was wrong. For one thing, he'd loved her in a non-brotherly way since they were kids, though it wasn't sexual back then. And for another thing, now he loved her so transcendently that he couldn't think of a single thing he wouldn't do for her, including ending his own life before he'd allow himself to wreck hers.

"Brother…" Sara was saying, but Setsuna could barely hear her; he was too busy drinking her in from under the fringe of his hair. All that beauty. He did get into fights over her, that much was true. What he didn't tell Sara was that the fights weren't because the guys at his school thought he was a pussy for always hanging out with his sister, but because they were always making crude remarks about her when they saw her. He had to stand up for her, right? He had to protect her—even from himself, like now.

"He'll be fine," Kira said. "It's fine. I'll take him to my place and fix him up."

"But, Setsuna…" Sara said. She pushed forward, reached for him. He slapped her hand away without thinking, then winced back, as though he was the one who'd been struck. Sara gasped, then shot to her feet. "Fine. I see how it is. But don't be late meeting me tomorrow!"

"C'mon, Setsuna," Kira said, as Sara ran off, her braid bouncing. "I can't let you turn me into a liar."

But even as they walked, Setsuna was thinking about Sara. He'd told her over and over they shouldn't spend so much time together, but…

"She's always hanging around me," Setsuna mumbled. "It's embarrassing."

"She does seem to have a very strong attachment to you," Kira agreed. He had his hands in his pockets and was walking like nothing at all in the entire world mattered to him. Like even Kato taking drugs and smashing up Kira's things wasn't important. Yet he made time for Setsuna just the same.

Like right now, when Setsuna could be going home, even though his father wasn't there. And then he got a bad feeling. Something wasn't right—was Sara okay?

"Listen, Kira, I just—I have something I gotta do, alright? Go home without me. It'll be fine."

Kira smiled and muttered something Setsuna probably couldn't hear because he was dashing off, in the direction of Sara's house, suddenly desperate to see her again.

Even though Setsuna knew it was a bad idea, he dug out the copy of the key Sara had made for him and, as soon as he got there, checked the house for signs of his mom—she always left her bedroom light on, while Sara always shut the lights off—and when there weren't any, Setsuna let himself into the house.

He found Sara curled up in bed, her fist in her mouth, tear tracks on her cheeks. She appeared to be sleeping, and Setsuna was hit all at once with the memories of watching her sleep as a child—but things were so different now. He was _safe_ then. It wasn't a terrible sin to be around her back when they were children; knowing what he knew now, watching her sleep seemed like a horrific idea—but now that he was here, he couldn't stop himself.

And while Sara might have been the one sleeping, it was Setsuna who dreamed: kissing those peach perfect lips, or caressing her, or waking her and confessing. Why couldn't he be a normal guy, confessing to a regular old crush? Why did his crush have to be his own _sister_? And why couldn't he feel like he could want to kiss her without feeling like he ought to be giving a different sort of confession?

Sara's light brown hair was still in its thick braid, and even though Setsuna knew he shouldn't, he ran his fingers through the ends of it, so gently she shouldn't be able to feel it. Then he imagined leaning over, just barely brushing their lips together… Setsuna's desires were abominable. They were catastrophic. He felt like they could end the world.

But Sara was like a magnet and he a metal filing; he couldn't pull himself away from her. It didn't matter if he was a disgusting pervert. It didn't matter if he'd promised himself over and over he'd never sully _her_

_Just this once,_ he thought, and combed her hair away from her face. _Just now, while she's asleep. She'll never know the difference._ He ducked down. He parted his lips just a fraction.

Setsuna had no way of knowing that his desires, once unleashed upon the earth, really would end the world.

END


	5. Yami no Matsuei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This desire always felt like being clobbered over the head with something heavy, the way it snuck up on him and then, bam, one look at Tsuzuki and he was reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong references to canonical rape (and murder) in this chapter as well! Take heed!

Hisoka had been working with Tsuzuki for about six months when, in the middle of a case, he realized something: he wanted to push Tsuzuki down on the middle of the hotel bed and kiss him. No, worse: he wanted to _ravish_ him. Hisoka knew that he was as sharp-tongued and bad tempered as Tsuzuki was sweet but indolent, and that, by all rights, they shouldn't even get along.

Hell, most times they didn't. In fact, Hisoka wasn't at all sure they _ever_ did. Being partners was not always Hisoka's idea of a functional relationship. So why, then, this sudden urge? Hisoka had never really considered fucking men before, probably because at sixteen years old in life—before he'd been murdered and gone on to become a shinigami—he'd never thought beyond girls, and then Muraki had raped him and men seemed so… disgusting, maybe, was the right word. But now when he looked at Tsuzuki he saw the ethereal beauty that others seemed to see, from the Count in his lonely Hall of Candles to Muraki in his dark evil heart.

Tsuzuki seemed unthreatening, with a fine bone structure that brought to mind the prettiest girls, anyway. He certainly was as pretty as a girl, though if you spent more than five minutes in his company it was quite evident that he was a man—and Hisoka knew that, if he fulfilled his fantasy of ravishing Tsuzuki, he would get his trousers open and be confronted with irrefutable proof that Tsuzuki was a man: his cock.

Hisoka wasn't sure he was ready for that. Despite the strange feeling of _wanting_ Tsuzuki, the idea of seeing another man's cock brought back painful memories. When Muraki had returned his memory, Hisoka had found himself screaming and it wasn't just from the bloody wounds inflicted on his body. And because Tsuzuki now knew his history—and tried to protect him from Muraki, which was sweet but foolish—he had told Hisoka that it was okay to be hurt by what had happened to him.

Hisoka's reaction had been swift and brutal: _I don't care about that. Being murdered was worse, and that's the end of it. Don't bring it up again._

But now… watching Tsuzuki as he ate a piece of cake and flipped through a file folder, Hisoka wondered if maybe the rape had been worse than he'd thought. He'd told people about it since his secret had been discovered, and he'd kept thinking that the worst thing he'd suffered that night was forcibly losing his life, but what if he was wrong?

"Tsuzuki! Put down the fucking cake while you read. You'll get frosting on our files." Hisoka went up to him and stood over him, tapping his foot.

"Aw, Hisoka," Tsuzuki whined, setting the cake back down on the plate. "I'm so careful!"

"Don't whine like a baby," Hisoka snapped back, then narrowed his eyes. With his artfully tousled dark hair and unearthly purple eyes, Tsuzuki was looking especially delectable today—much like the cake he'd been eating, if Hisoka had a sweet tooth to rival Tsuzuki's. Fuck, if Tsuzuki was yummy like cake—and he was—then Hisoka _did_ have a sweet tooth—and for him, it was a mile wide.

"Goddamn it," Hisoka said, giving up. This desire always felt like being clobbered over the head with something heavy, the way it snuck up on him and then, bam, one look at Tsuzuki and he was reeling. Tsuzuki had always been this lovely… but he'd never affected Hisoka this way before. Had never given Hisoka headaches and stomachaches and dry mouth just from watching him exit the bathroom after a shower, his towel slung low on his hips.

Hisoka wanted him so badly he was sick with it. He couldn't imagine their fucking—if they ever did—but he still overheated in Tsuzuki's presence now.

And now, watching Tsuzuki brush crumbs off his hands, Hisoka felt his heart throb in his chest, sharp and painful: he had no real body anymore unless they were out of the Summons Bureau, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to this feeling.

Especially since he could remember the sensation with such clarity that, even when he was incorporeal, he would glance at Tsuzuki and his breath would vanish all over again. His remembered-heart would skip a metaphorical beat.

It was worse now, on a case together, Tsuzuki looking up at him now with that oh-so-sweet curve of his lips—how did he do it? Such beauty in a simple smile. It veritably unmanned Hisoka. He reached down, grabbed Tsuzuki's lapel, and dragged him out of his chair.

"Goddamn it," he said again, this time in a whisper, and brought their lips together. "I give up," he said against Tsuzuki's mouth, and he expected Tsuzuki to pull away, to put some distance between them the same way he did with every other man who flirted with him and took liberties, but Tsuzuki did no such thing.

Instead, he sighed, his body melting against Hisoka's, his head dipping down so that Hisoka didn't have to keep leaning up on his tiptoes, and _kissed him back_. He wrapped one strong arm, corded with muscle despite his slenderness, around Hisoka's back and held Hisoka against him as if Tsuzuki would go up in smoke if he didn't hold on.

Hisoka allowed himself a moment to bask in the embrace, and then he slid his lips away from Tsuzuki's and dropped back down flat onto his feet, and tip-tilted his head to avoid Tsuzuki, who was clearly seeking to continue the kiss.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Hisoka asked in a hoarse whisper, looking up into luminous purple eyes and feeling his resolve waver. He didn't want to be kissing Tsuzuki… didn't want to think about fucking him… didn't want to think about the ramifications. Would Tsuzuki let Hisoka fuck him? Or would he expect Hisoka to be the one fucked, a possibility that made his skin crawl?

He might have felt desire for the first time ever—and it was an uncontrollable, wild thing, like an out-of-control horse—but he wasn't ready to take it beyond what he could stomach, and he couldn't stomach being penetrated ever again. Muraki had driven that particular desire out of him for good. If Hisoka worked another hundred years as a shinigami, he would still never get past that.

"Because you kissed me," Tsuzuki was saying. "Because I've wanted you for awhile, but it didn't seem like that would ever happen." Hisoka wondered if _because you were raped_ was going unsaid, or if Hisoka himself was the only one thinking it. Judging from Tsuzuki's earnest expression, if he was thinking it, he was keeping those thoughts well-hidden.

"Well, let's get on it with it," Hisoka said, and yanked Tsuzuki's arm until he went, willingly enough, over to the bed. And then Hisoka shoved him down, and tore at his tie, and kissed his lips until they flushed from the bruising pressure, and mussed his hair.

And even though there was a part of Hisoka, deep inside, that was screaming—it wasn't from pain, not exactly—he pushed Tsuzuki into the mattress with his cock, Tsuzuki's legs falling open wide, and he tried to ignore the sickened feeling in his chest from the feeling of Tsuzuki's own dick against his thigh, and he did just what he'd been fantasizing.

He ravished Tsuzuki, and he was pretty sure Tsuzuki enjoyed it thoroughly.

END


	6. Inuyasha #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So. You find yourself in lust with your own brother," Naraku mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inuyasha doesn't appear in this, but it's still an incest pairing (obvously, lol).
> 
> Thanks to Blownwish for the beta!

"Master!" Jaken cried, stumbling on clumsy feet after Sesshomaru. "You had the perfect opportunity to eliminate that pest, that weakling, your younger brother Inuyasha! He was completely at the mercy of his _youkai_ nature and—my lord?"

Sesshomaru ignored the ruckus. Jaken was an incredibly loyal servant, but he was so goddamned annoying, pretty much all of the time. The trouble was, in this case, he was right. Why had he not been able to slaughter Inuyasha? Why did the markings on his face, the lengthened claws, the scent of his _youkai_ blood confuse Sesshomaru so much? He had been out of control, beyond even that bitch Kagome's help. She had been crouched over him, crying out his name—didn't Inuyasha get sick of the bitching? Sesshomaru should not have spared her life—or his.

"That insolent whelp!" Jaken was bemoaning. "That troublesome puppy! That irritant of a—" Jaken's diatribe was roughly and rudely interrupted by Sesshomaru's sword Tokijin, which whistled by his ear and missed him by the smallest margin possible. "Lord Sesshomaru! Have I not served you faithfully? Why do you do this to me? Is this another test? Master—!"

"Be quiet," Sesshomaru said. "I am consulting myself." He walked for a few minutes more, then sat down beneath a tree. Jaken followed, but Sesshomaru was beyond hearing his annoying prattle—he was too busy trying to understand his extremely conflicting feelings for Inuyasha. Now that Inuyasha had been bested by his own _youkai_ nature, it had not been worth the trouble of slaying him. He would surely, soon enough, destroy himself, right?

But Sesshomaru did not intend to deceive himself. He never had; he prided himself on his ruthlessness, his clarity of mind, but this answer eluded him. He wanted to believe in his own cold nature, the _youkai_ blood that formed him and shaped him keeping him in check. He never lost his temper; he was never ruffled. He was always calm.

So why did this upset him so? He closed his eyes and considered his obnoxious, loud-mouthed little brother, and immediately the image of the transformed _youkai_ Inuyasha came to the forefront of his mind. And Sesshomaru's heart stopped momentarily in his chest.

"But what is this feeling?" he said aloud, now almost completely oblivious to Jaken, who was screeching about something, not that Sesshomaru really ever listened to his wailings. "Why do I feel thus? I have always wanted Inuyasha to die. Is this not so?"

_But have you?_

Sesshomaru reflected on all their battles and came to a disturbing conclusion: no matter how many times he had said _die_ to Inuyasha, he had not been able to finish his little brother off. He was a full-fledged _youkai_. There was no way Inuyasha could ever hope to beat him in battle, fair or otherwise.

"So I have allowed him to live," Sesshomaru mused. "I have felt something besides hatred for Inuyasha."

"Lord Sesshomaru! What do you mean? Of course you hate him! He is execrable! He is worth hating! You—"

Sesshomaru glared at him and tuned him out again, even as Jaken cringed away. Sesshomaru realized he was still holding Tokijin, and he sheathed it, clenching his teeth as he did so. He had allowed Inuyasha to continue breathing, and now he reflected on the fact that his heart had pulsed when he thought about Inuyasha, transformed.

His body became hot, hot like the poison of his claws, or hot like his _youkai_ nature. _Hanyou_ Inuyasha did nothing for him—he could rip him to shreds with no problem, right? But Inuyasha with those sharp teeth, those vicious claws—Sesshomaru suddenly wanted to push him down, to master him in ways that didn't involve swordplay.

Well, not with those type of swords, anyway.

"This is most curious," Sesshomaru said, and leaned back against the tree. "I think a nap will revive me, and then this petty concern will no longer trouble me."

But he had been there barely five minutes more when he smelled that very distinctive odor. It was hateful to him now, anathema in his nose.

"Naraku," he said, without opening his eyes. "How very interesting that you would intrude upon my solitude."

"Now, Sesshomaru, your servant is with you. Surely that doesn't count as _being alone_?" Naraku cackled, and Sesshomaru surged to his feet and opened his eyes, whipping out Tokijin and swiping it in Naraku's direction. But no matter how fast he was, Naraku eluded the blade easily—even if he was nothing more than a demonic puppet, he maintained Naraku's abilities.

"I tend to forget about him," Sesshomaru said coldly. Jaken sputtered.

"But, Master!"

"So. You find yourself in lust with your own brother," Naraku mused, again subverting Sesshomaru's strike. The thrust of the sword was like an extension of his arm, yet Naraku evaded it handily. "Don't believe me?" Naraku said, and Kanna walked out from behind a tree. "I can prove it."

In her mirror, Sesshomaru could see a replay of the most recent battle between him and Inuyasha. He saw himself with his whips of poison from his nails; he saw Inuyasha evade him over and over, and he could see that the effort required to kill Inuyasha—even to kill one simple _hanyou_ —was lacking.

And as he watched himself taunt Inuyasha into transforming, he was suddenly surrounded by the scent of _youkai_ -Inuyasha, and he recoiled. But not because it was abhorrent—but because his body was stirred by the scent. It was downright delicious.

He watched Inuyasha snarl, his eyes red, his face marked, his claws vicious, and Sesshomaru realized that Inuyasha's _youkai_ scent wasn't coming to him from a memory, but was all around him.

"What tricks are these? These are nothing to me," Sesshomaru said. Kanna stood silently, eerily still, the mirror still reflecting the battle. Sesshomaru saw himself swing his sword, sending Inuyasha careening away from him, and something _pulsebeat_ inside him at the sight.

How could it be so satisfying to knock Inuyasha down a peg or two, to damage his outrageous over-confidence, but at the same time make Sesshomaru feel this alien thing?

And as Kanna twisted the mirror, as the scene dissipated, Sesshomaru stared at Naraku. He knew his face hadn't changed, that his eyes hadn't narrowed, that the lines of his body were as erect as ever… but he could tell Naraku wasn't fooled, and it made him even angrier than he already was with Naraku.

"How very destructive," Naraku taunted. "It seems you are now useless to me. Since I cannot trust you to annihilate Inuyasha, I suppose I must dispose of you now." Naraku rushed him, but Sesshomaru, infuriated despite himself, swung Tokijin forward with a hard thrust, and the bamboo puppet within the baboon disguise was sliced in half. Kanna disappeared.

"That's better," he said, sheathing his sword. "That's for showing me nonsense." But he contemplated as he trod a slow circle around the tree.

"What does he mean? Master! What is this? Don't you want Inuyasha dead? Lord Sesshomaru!"

"Silence!" roared Sesshomaru, and immediately recoiled. He had lost control of himself for a split second. And why? Because Naraku had appeared, looked within his heart, and spelled it out for him. He did lust after Inuyasha. Inuyasha the _hanyou_ held no appeal—of course not—but Sesshomaru found something disquieting about transformed Inuyasha. Something that made his blood bubble beneath his skin. "So it is true," he said, and plunked himself back on the grass without his usual grace. He was so out of sorts that he wasn't even upset with himself for being clumsy about sitting down.

"It is a sickness," Sesshomaru said. "It cannot be allowed to fester. If it does, I shall be destroyed. I cannot allow myself to hunger for him, not even in his _youkai_ state, no matter how pleasurable it might be to dominate him." This thought led his mind down some peculiar paths—like twisting Inuyasha's wrists together and holding him down while using his slender, eminently more breakable body as a sheath for Sesshomaru's sword. The one that throbbed, even now, in his flowing trousers. The one that begged for something that Sesshomaru had never felt before.

Never before had he had these urges, so why now? Why this, for his younger brother, his detested and despised inferior sibling? Inuyasha was no better than an insect! He was nothing but a mindless _youkai_ when he transformed, no better than the very things he hunted! So why did Sesshomaru hunger for him so? _Why did Inuyasha smell so delicious in his_ youkai _form?_

"Inuyasha should not be suffered to live for this insult," Sesshomaru said. "He is not even as useless as Jaken and yet the ability to slay him remains beyond my reach."

"Master! I am not useless! Do not say so, Master, Lord Sesshomaru, please!" Jaken was now bawling, but Sesshomaru was too lost in thought to bear him any mind.

"The only solution is I must kill Inuyasha once and for all," he said. This perverted desire could not be allowed to take root within himself; like a weed, it would choke out all of the things that made Sesshomaru himself, and deny him his rightful place as a powerful _youkai_ in the world—Inuyasha's better, and a worthy successor to their father. The true master of the Tetsusaiga.

It did not strike Sesshomaru that it was so much of an issue that Inuyasha was his blood sibling, but that Inuyasha was an upstart who had the very nerve to try to become the thing that Sesshomaru was! For he, Sesshomaru, had battled long and hard to achieve his status—Inuyasha's blood ties meant nothing.

But within, Sesshomaru's blood roiled. He was sickened by this foolish, mean, human desire, and he would cut it out of his life the way he did everything that crossed him: with his sword, in the form of cutting Inuyasha down for good.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is complete now! :D


End file.
